The Seigneur held himself still, though his body shook, above Yvain, held in her arms and between her thighs, his cock just touching the soft, wet lips of her cunt. He said, “There’s a thing, a hymen, a little piece of skin that protects your entrance, little one, until I take you. When I push through it it may sting for a moment, but it never lasts long.”
Yvain smiled. “Oh that. You don’t have to worry. The bishop took that long ago.”
She wanted to laugh at his disconcerted expression, solemn and important though this moment was. He said, “Oh? You said you were a virgin?”
“A chess bishop, my master. My father had a large, wooden chess set. I, ah, used the bishop a few times, till I found better toys.”
“Girl.” But he smiled. “I should just whip you continuously, shouldn’t I?”
“That may be wise.”
“Hah. Anyway, my love, hold me tight, and you can’t go wrong.”
Yvain complied, and felt his cock press just a little harder against her cunt. She stared up at him, watching his eyes. He seemed intent on what his body was doing, barely seeing her. She felt his cock move forward, enter and part her lips, until the head of his cock was inside her. She felt it as an intense sweetness, a vein of golden, sugared, pleasure. She said, “Oh! Oh, my Master. That’s so …”
But she had no words. Nor had he. She focussed on the sensations from her cunt, hard engorged cock moving easily but slowly, held in her slippery, longing cunt. Every millimetres of progress was a revelation. She’d enjoyed serving him with her mouth, and being fucked anally, but she knew now why he had left this till last.
She made a loving, pleasured moan, and he gasped in answer. Neither spoke in words, as he s=took her, with excruciating slowness.
At last their pubic bones pressed together, his covered in tight-curled hair and her bare and sensitive, and she felt herself utterly, completely filled. She was more aware of his cock, pulsing and alive inside her, than she’d ever been aware of anything in her life. She felt her eyes tearing up, and smiled up at him. He lowered his head and and kissed her. She put her hand on the back of his neck and kissed him back, opening her mouth, wanting to be explored.
At last, after a long, long moment, she felt him move, still very slowly, withdrawing, skin sliding back along sensitive skin. That skin contact and movement was so wonderful, but she hoped he wouldn’t withdraw far, or for long. At last he paused with only part of the head of his cock still in her, and he smiled, watching the tears and the need that must show on her face. He smiled, and held still. He was still in his power, and cruel with it. He could read her face, her need, and he grinned.
At last Yvain couldn’t help herself. “My Seigneur. Master. Please …”
But he held himself still, tormenting her. Then at last he pressed forward again, a little faster than the first time, until their pubic bones were tight together again, and Yvain felt little but her own cunt and its occupier. There was a bed, and a room, but these things were not important. Yvain sighed. “Ahhh…”
He stayed, letting her savour the fulness and thickness of him, the sensation of being filled. But this time he stayed for a shorter time, and then withdrew slowly but not quite so slow. When he was only just inside her he paused again, and smiled down at her. “I hope this feels better than the bishop.”
She had no answer for that except to hold him tight, her thighs raised and clasped round his waist. She rested her feet on his bottom and he made a growling noise, and began to move, still slowly but without stopping. This is the thing, Yvain thought: we are fucking.
She felt him speeding up. They moved together, her body answering and meeting his. Something seemed to be forming in her stomach and at the base of her spine. Something huge and sweet. She opened her eyes wide, and hoping to please him she said, “Master, may I – “
But then those forces inside her combined and took her over, like the huge waves she’d swum in when her father taken taken her to see the ocean. She lost the power of speech and roared, like a lioness, surprised by how guttural and ungirlish she sounded.
He said only, “Good girl.” He reached under her to hold her buttocks and let her take his full weight while he began thrusting into her, hard and fast. She was still glowing from that first climax when she felt the same forces build in her again, and she cried out a second time, this time in a high squeal, like a tortured cat.
He ignored that and continued to thrust hard and fast in her, merciless and intent, so she felt like he was plundering her. Then, suddenly his breathing stopped and his back arched, and then he pushed into her, his body pressed tight, and he released that breath in a series of bear-like grunts and growls.
She felt his seed splash inside her. That was not a sexual feeling, exactly, but it moved her. She felt herself crying like a child, her face screwed yup, her eyes streaming. He watched her cry, his face slowly changing from the pleasured mask of his orgasm to show concern. “Are you all right, little piglet? I haven’t hurt you?”
Yvain reached up and stroked his face. “I don’t know why I’m crying. But it’s nothing bad. I love you.” Then she smiled. “If a slave may be so bold.”
He said nothing, but kissed her mouth again. A moment later, surprising her because she’d forgotten the girl existed, Gizela kissed her forehead.